


just the same

by lotuskid



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Death, F/M, Illness, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Tags May Change, Weapons, no spoilers yet but there will be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 17:36:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15296601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotuskid/pseuds/lotuskid
Summary: February Francine Brown hadn't ever wanted to leave the Southside.  Every day she spent on the road with her mother, going back home was the only thing on her mind.  But once she finally made it, whether or not she still belonged became unclear.Sweet Pea/OC





	just the same

**Author's Note:**

> hey, so, this is my first multichapter fic ive ever really bothered working at and posting. cool beans.
> 
> I promise you this is not going to be abandoned any time soon. I've already been typing away at chapter one for at least 2 weeks (its gonna be a long one) and I swear I'll post it as soon as i finish, it's just giving me some trouble and I'm trying to work through it as best I can. Hopefully it turns out alright!
> 
> I've had this idea brewing in my head since i started season 2, and I'm really thrilled to finally try and bring one of my ideas to life. Please be kind, and enjoy. hope to see you at chapter one <3

**prologue**

**  
**

**song: creep - radiohead**

 

***

 

 Southside High was a towering monster, covered in graffiti that twisted itself to look like scowling eyes and snarling teeth, warding away strangers and snobs and pussies all alike.  Its doors were made to be burst open, its walls were made to be pinned against. The toilets probably weren’t made to spit shit back up even after you flushed twenty times, but they did.

 To anyone else, this place was a hellhole, a place of ruin and despair, of pocket knives that definitely shouldn’t have made it past the metal detector, of leather and smoke and rotten attitudes.  But for February, this--this was alright.

 There was family.  There were old friends, if they’d have her.  And there was a sliver of a chance that she might find some way to stitch herself back together again, after her mother took her away and tore her apart--but she wasn’t counting on that one.

Stitches and old friends aside, February knew the Southside.  She knew what kind of primitive, every-man-for-himself type ecosystem worked in there, and knew that, considering her only connection was a fifty-five year old biker grandma, her best bet was to keep her head down for as long as she could until things smoothed over.  Maybe, if she was lucky, she hoped she’d simply fade into the sea of tarnished black leather and old flannel and it’d be smooth sailing from there.

 And yet, however much any of us ever hope or plan, the old saying still stands strong; the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.

 

***


End file.
